


All They'd Ever Be

by asocialconstruct



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Abuse, Cain is a dick, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Request Meme, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set just after the fight on ch3:20-21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All They'd Ever Be

**Cain**

Cain glared at Encke’s back as the bay cleared out, holding his side where Titus had gotten him in the kidney. Of course Titus had started it, sneering that Cain wouldn’t be fucking the best navigator Fleet had for much longer. But of course only Cain got ripped a new one, that sanctimonious asshole Encke riding his ass ever since Abel had volunteered them for this stupid fucking death trap. 

He kept his back straight as he cast around for where he’d thrown his jacket when he’d gone after Titus, ignoring Deimos standing to one side until he realized the little shit was holding it. Fuck, he’d gotten hit in the face more than he’d thought, too punch-drunk to even see Deimos clear. Cain grabbed his coat from Deimos with a glare and left, not waiting to see if Deimos followed. He always did.

They ended up at Deimos’ room, Deimos’ navigator too creeped out to spend much time there, so it was as private a place as anywhere. Cain stripped to the waist and threw himself down on Deimos’ bed, too fucking tired to care that Deimos undressed him the rest of the way with his eyes as the little shit got out gauze and antibiotic ointment. 

Cain had almost drifted off when Deimos came back to the bed with a cold damp cloth and dabbed at the scrape on his back where he’d been pushed against the wall by that fucker Titus. It jolted him awake enough to be pissed off again, but Deimos’ hands were warm and slow. Better than the cold prodding he’d have gotten in medical, so Cain let Deimos press his knuckles into the stiff knots of his back after the scrape was patched. And fuck it hurt, but it would hurt worse if he just let his back stiffen up, or if he waited until Abel got a clue and learned how to do anything right besides suck cock.

He could have fallen asleep like that, but Deimos nudged him to roll onto his side after a while, the pushy little bitch. His hands were starting to ache, so Cain let Deimos dab them clean too. He hissed as Deimos licked his scraped knuckles, bloody and raw from grinding his fist into Titus’ two-day stubble, like punching sandpaper over gravel. But the antibiotic gel numbed it, and Deimos knew better than to press his luck too much. Cain glared as his hands were wrapped.

Deimos had gotten pretty good at this, plenty of practice patching himself up with how much he got cut up himself, and neither of them wanted to get patched up by medical with the ear-chewing from Encke or the higherups it usually brought down. Cain got enough nosy questions from Abel without medical crawling up his ass wanting to know where all the bruises came from and threatening to have him pulled from active duty if he came in with another cracked rib.

Didn’t hurt that Deimos usually finished up playing doctor with a good blow job, getting himself off while Cain just lay back and held Deimos’ head in place. Nothing to think about; no need to worry that if he scared Abel off he’d get his ass chewed out by Bering for chasing off the last navigator; no reason to care whether Deimos got off because he always came back again regardless. Things were just easier with Deimos.

He let Deimos lay against him after they both finished, too fucking tired and sore to think about getting up right away. And Deimos didn’t bitch about Cain smoking after sex like Abel did, so he lit one up just because he could.

**Deimos**

Cain had finally done it, gotten himself humiliated in front of everyone by Encke. And all just because Cain was too stupid to avoid picking fights with idiots twice his size, stubborn enough to keep throwing himself at anyone who gave him a look for the smallest things. 

Deimos patched him up as usual; Cain threw himself down on Deimos’ bed like he owned the place. Which, Deimos supposed, he did, even if Cain didn’t really know it. Deimos and his navigator had found a comfortable arrangement; his navigator slept with whoever he wanted, Deimos got the room to himself, and they worked together just fine. Simple, easy.

He watched Cain drift off after his cigarette, wondering if this was how Cain was with his new navigator or if this one was already planning a way out like the last one had. Deimos didn’t envy the navigator most things, not the scar, not being followed by someone like him, not what Cain and Bering had planned for him. Abel, the first martyr, the first victim. Deimos didn’t envy him any of it. But if Abel got this every night Deimos did envy him that. 

Cain pushed him away after an hour or so; probably the most time they’d spent together alone since basic. Cain couldn’t manage the Sleipnir, too hot-headed to wait for everyone else to sort themselves out and move up later, letting Deimos shadow him more often lately, as if Cain thought he needed the backup. 

They walked to dinner together, Cain leaving him without a look to go sit with his navigator, who looked up hopefully as Cain sat down. Deimos sat by himself, watching them. Cain was making an effort to keep this one, apparently. 

Or he thought, until Cain jerked his hand away as Abel tried to inspect the new gauze. Deimos couldn’t quite here what they were saying over the background noise of dinner, but Cain stood up suddenly, pushing Abel away as the blond tried to put a hand on Cain’s wrist. 

Abel stood up, though. Deimos thought this one was supposed to be smarter than the last two, but apparently not. 

The slap cut across the cafeteria. Backhand, across the mouth but close enough to the eye that it would probably bruise. They were too delicate, the navigators, pale skin showing every mark, and Cain either forgot that with every new one or he liked to see how differently they bruised. Deimos didn’t bruise no matter what Cain did to him, and he suspected that was part of why Cain kept coming back to him. No reason to worry about breaking Deimos, if Cain ever worried about anything.

Cain stormed out, leaving Abel there holding his bleeding lip. The little navigator sunk back down in his seat, ignored by and ignoring everyone around him. 

Deimos sighed. Cain needed to keep this one; Deimos didn’t know the details of what Bering had put him up to, but Abel was the last straw, no telling what Bering would do with Cain if he burned their last option. 

And anyway, Deimos knew what that slap felt like, how it felt to be left standing there ground to nothing by the only person in your world who mattered. He put some ice in a cup and brought it over to where Abel sat alone.

“Can I help you?” the navigator asked suspiciously as Deimos sat down across from him. Abel pressed a hand to his lip, eyeing the cup of ice.

“He won’t apologize, but he didn’t want to do it,” Deimos rasped, his throat raw. 

“Cain?” Abel asked. “You know him?” So at least he still had the good sense to be suspicious of Cain too. 

“He’s a friend,” Deimos lied. “He doesn’t like to talk about things. You shouldn’t take it personally.” He didn’t need to know what Cain or Abel had said to know what had happened. Cain didn’t like demands, didn’t like attachments, so Deimos made none and expected none. Abel would be happier if he did the same.

Deimos pushed the cup of ice closer to Abel. The navigator looked at it, at Deimos. Finally took a piece and pressed it to his bruising lip, water dripping off his fingers to the table. “You want something for the lip?” Deimos offered. Cain would hate that, but better Deimos take care of it than have medical set up a suspected abuse file.

“I’m fine, I’ll just stop by medical,” Abel said.

“They’ll ask who did it,” Deimos shrugged. “They’ll request a transfer for you right there.” Cain would kill him if he heard Deimos had suggested it, but the way Abel flushed said he’d never go through with it. So Cain was trying to hang onto this one. Or else Abel was stupider than he looked.

“Come on,” Deimos said, pushing himself up, turning to go without waiting to see if Abel would follow. 

He did. Navigators always did, too nosy for their own good. Deimos led Abel out of the cafeteria, letting his voice rest as they walked in silence together. 

“I should—I should go,” Abel said suddenly as he realized they were going back to Deimos’ room. 

Deimos just gave him a look. “I don’t fuck blonds,” he said finally, making Cain’s navigator flush. Good. Knock him down a peg, make Abel realize that just because Cain couldn’t keep his hands to himself didn’t mean everyone wanted to fuck him. And maybe make him wonder who Deimos did fuck. Deimos opened the door for him and let Abel decide whether or not to go in.

The navigator perched himself on the edge of the bed Deimos had just remade; he wondered if Abel could smell Cain on the sheets, or just the cigarette smoke still hanging in the room. Abel fidgeted as Deimos got the cloth and gauze he’d used on Cain earlier. So suspicious, but he supposed if Cain had done his usual seduction, Abel had good reason to be suspicious of fighters.

“Have you known Cain very long?” Abel asked as Deimos turned his face back and forth in the light, seeing a deep scratch along Abel’s eye from Cain’s nails that had been lost in the red mottling before. It would leave a welt, and probably scab over by morning. Just another of Cain’s marks.

Deimos dabbed at it with the cloth, cleaning it. “Not long,” he lied. Abel winced. Deimos ignored him. If Abel was too delicate to handle a little scratch, he was too delicate to be Cain’s navigator anyway.

“Is he alright?” Abel asked, and Deimos made a noncommittal noise. “I was only trying to help,” Abel said quietly as Deimos dabbed at his bloody lip next. They made eye contact then, too close and intimate with Deimos’ hand on his face. Abel flushed and Deimos supposed he might have if he’d had any shame left. Abel would lose his eventually too. Cain didn’t leave room for much useless emotion of any kind.

“He’s trying more with you than the last two,” Deimos said finally, dragging himself back to concentrate on applying antibiotic to Abel’s split lip and scratched face. Cain opened wounds, Deimos closed them, the way it had always been.

Abel stared at him. 

Deimos sighed, not looking at Abel anymore. “Just don’t expect much. You should go. Don’t tell Cain you were here,” he added guiltily, in case Abel didn’t already know the rules of the game. But Abel just nodded guiltily too, and when he was gone Deimos realized they’d never exchanged names. They were still just Cain’s navigator and someone Cain didn’t care about, all they’d ever be.


End file.
